


Twisted

by day_dreamer016



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Roman, Consensual Somnophilia, Gay Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Somnophilia, Theft, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/day_dreamer016/pseuds/day_dreamer016
Summary: Roman is one dark sonnovabitch; stealing, pillaging, etc. But what happens when he gets caught by the man he's been sleep-fucking for weeks?





	1. Steal and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> I stopped. Now it's back. Hope y'all are happy.

It’s always been a habit he could never shake off. Thievery has been instilled into him since he was very little. From when he accidentally stole his first candy bar to when his father lead him on a heist to steal his first batch of diamonds. Now it’s what he lives by. If there is a chance, a way, he will take advantage of it. It’s how he’s currently sitting on a large quantity of cash right now. The McMahons, wealthiest people on the block, left their back gate open in hopes of their supposedly lost dog would venture back to their yard. Little did they know that a larger, meaner hound would be scouring around their property. Now he was in their humble abode, scanning the white, well-cleaned tile flooring to the high-raised ceiling. Anything and everything in their home so far, he could make millions off of. In their kitchen, the family had pure silver utensils and off in a corner, was a large sixteen-by-twenty-foot cabinet filled with the most expensive chinaware. It made the Samoan’s bright, silvery eyes gleam with pure excitement.

  
Until there was a loud clicking sound that began to make its way the hallway close by. The man had instantly perked up, a strand of his long, black hair falling into his face as he did so. But even as the miniscule piece of hair tickled his nose, he remained still. Quiet. And when the light of the kitchen had flickered to life, he watched from the thin gnashes in the pantry door. Of course it was none-other-than Stephanie McMahon; the wife and woman of the household. She wore nothing but a pair of black panties and seven inch heels. Her top was completely nude, which made the intruder grimace. Especially so when she had turned towards him from retrieving a can of Ready Whip from the fridge. It was obvious her husband, Hunter, and her would rather be getting dirty than looking for their tiny York Terrier. Which didn’t bother him any; it just meant that they would be too distracted to notice their things missing.

  
Roman swallowed thickly, still watching Stephanie as she wandered around the kitchen before finally sauntering off. Once more it become pitch black, a blanket of darkness aside from the moonlight dancing off the shining silver of the fridge, the dishwasher, and other objects. Silently, he opened the wooden door and removed himself. He moved off to another part of the house, managing to find a safe behind one of couple’s large, cashmere couch in the wall. It was an easy pick too considering the two had announced their wedding on live TV. So with great, great ease, Roman was able to get his hands on over thousands of dollars in both paper and in precious gemstones. He restrained himself, however, leaving most behind so it wouldn’t be as noticeable when either Stephanie or Hunter looked inside the irony drawer again. So with a couple of rubies, sapphires, and dollar bills in his pockets, the Samoan snuck back through the maze that was the mansion he currently haunted. He made sure things were still in place, making sure they were perfect before finally exiting. Then, once he was down the block, out of the gated neighborhood, Reigns found his nearby alley and began to removed the majority of his clothes; his gloves, his jacket and shirt. The spares he had placed before this event were still there in their plastic bag beside the rusting, blue dumpster. Quickly he slipped into those before gathering the lighter he put in the same bag and tossing it into the trashcan were the original clothing could be found.  
As the blaze took over, Roman’s heart began to beat harshly. His eyes, or pupils specifically, blew wide in ecstasy. The adrenaline was running wild at this point, and the need to wear it off hung heavy within him─hung heavy _down there._ And he knew just where to go for that.


	2. Another Night

The lights in the apartment were still on, flickering in and out every minute or so. Roman watched from outside on the fire escape, mumbling to himself restlessly. However, his whispers grew quiet, especially when the man he had been  _ observing _ walked into his view. Like always, he was nude, wet from a shower. Or maybe from sweating like the first time he paid a visit. It didn’t matter, though. Roman was growing anxious; he switched his weight between his feet, whole body rocking to-and-fro at the movement. His breathing grew shallow and he dug his blunt nails into the brick windowsill. With each passing moment, the Samoan man’s brows grew closer and closer together. And eventually, a small little growl had escaped from the back of his throat.

Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. The dim-looking lights were finally shut off, enveloping the room in darkness. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lip, and soon he was opening the window. Every time there was a squeak or an odd noise, he would stop, look around for anything out of the ordinary. Roman mainly kept his eyes on the target; asleep, snoring atop his blankets. Once inside, the Samoan removed his shoes like before. This time, however, he kept his clothes on. Only unbuckling his black belt and unzipping his pants to push them down just enough for his thick cock to fall out.

Like the first time, the other was fast asleep. Deep in a dream that Roman didn't care about as long as it kept the man’s eyes closed. He licked his lips, the Samoan did, as he leaned over the bed, laying his bear-like hands gently on the other’s thighs. There was a small huff, which made Roman still, but when he looked up, there was silence and no eyes on him.

“Good boy,” Reigns whispered before looking back down at his prize.

His pupils blew out, growing in size like his aching dick. Ever so slowly he began his ascend with his hands---running them over the thickness of smooth thighs, feeling the skin between the crease where the man’s ass and thighs connected. Just before he could get a feel for the whole peach, though, there was a clicking from the side of the room. Roman shot up straight like he had been shot. Wide eyes looked at the old, broken door of the apartment. The knob turned, sounds of resistance stirring the man in bed. Which, at this point, Roman had already began to stuff himself back in his pants. Quickly he ran to his shoes and picked them up before practically leaping out the window. He clung to the wall, back pressed tightly against it as if it made him seem invisible.

“Dean, why the fuck is the window open? Again!” a high-pitched, annoyed voice cried out. Along with it was ruffling of sheets and loud stomping. Then, suddenly, the rough shutting of the window. Which cracked down atop the already broken AC Unit.

Roman took this moment to scoot nearer and peer inside. The man he was planning on having a good time with was sitting up. His blue eyes were tired but curious as to why the other was yelling. Curly, reddish brown locks clung to face, which had a wide smirk on it. The sight had a light blush forming on Roman’s face.

“AC Unit is shot,” the man rumbled as he scratched his hairy chest. “and after that lil show, I’d say it's ‘bout dead now.” His voice was gravely but deep. It made a shiver run down the Samoan’s spine, and before he knew it, the sound was making him make a grand escape.

As he was running down the labyrinth of allies, Roman gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. This man wasn’t like any other he had encountered. And he only knew him from sleep.


	3. Have we Met?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's goes grocery shopping only to find something more appealing than fruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been posting many updates for this story btw. I've recently been inspired by the return of Dean lol.

The sun had just come up over the city skyline. It was warm in the little bedroom of their apartment. Both men were sweating profusely from the conjoined body heat and the lack of their AC unit. However, while one slept soundlessly, the other was sat up on the end of the bed. His stringy, gingery locks stuck to his forehead. Every moment or more, he found himself blowing at the dangling follicles that seemed to be oh-so-annoying.

It didn’t take long before the man found himself in the shared bathroom with the cheap pair of clippers they had gotten for “manscaping”. He didn’t know the meaning of the word while his friend used every last drop of electricity to clean up his pubes or just trim his beard. But now, he was using it to buzz off all of those locks without a second thought. The man in the room over wouldn’t like, considering he always likes to braid and play with it. Now he’s going to have to pick it off the floor to do so.

“Oh my god.”

Looking up, heavy-lidded blues met doey browns that seemed to be wide with horror. All the man could do, though, was smirk smugly at his companion. “Mornin’ Sethie! Have a good sleep in all that summer night heat?”

“No. I had a nightmare about an ugly rat that managed to sneak into our apartment. Looks like it wasn’t a nightmare since there’s a heinously hideous one in front of me now.” Rollins hissed as he moved to touch the now fuzzy, buzz-cut head.

The other smacked it away, though, holding his hand over his heart as he feigned heartbreak, “Ouch Seth, that hurt. Don’t you know that this rat has feelings?”

The brown-haired man rolled his eyes as he watched. Then he smirked as he reached up again, but this time to hold Dean’s face in his hands. “I think you look like a cute rat,” he chuckled before pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Thanks,” Ambrose hummed as leaned into the soft touches. “Just remember that I think you look like an angry poodle--”

“I do  _ not _ look like a fucking poodle!” Seth huffed as he gave a light slap to Dean’s dimpled cheek.

That didn’t stop the other from letting out a hearty laugh, though. Which only made Rollins’ face grow dark with blush the more flustered he got. It eventually lead to him just leaving the bathroom and disappearing around the corner into the kitchen. “Just make sure you clean up your mess. I’m going to the gym.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know, for wanting to save money all the damn time, a gym membership sounds like the last thing we need.” He stated matter-of-factly. But the only reply he had gotten was the sound of the apartment door slamming closed.

So with that, Dean just sighed in an exaggerated fashion before stepping out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Just like always, it was small; one circular table with two chairs, an oven with a two burner stove top, and three counter spaces that surrounded the space with a medium sized, creamy white fridge in the back corner. Just glancing at the cooling machine made Ambrose’s stomach growl. However, the man knew that there was most likely nothing in it. He was proven right, too, when he approached the thing and opened it, revealing nothing but two bottles of beer, a stick of butter, and some leftover pieces of pizza.

“Yeah Rollins, I’ll go grocery shopping. . . with the money I  _ don’t  _ have.” Dean grumbled quietly to himself.

===

Sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose. As the sun beamed down on him, his black, leather jacket absorbed the ninety-degree climate. He refused to take the garment off, though, just allowing himself to be cooked within it. Also, he didn’t want to reveal the scratches of his and Seth’s late night activities. But as he was walking up to the double doors of the local food market, Dean stopped to observe the man who was just walking in. His hair was down to the middle of his back, and it was pitch black in color. The man’s skin was a light caramel and rippled from the muscles moving underneath them. Dean felt his mouth fill with saliva. If he didn’t have his mouth closed, he was sure that he’d be drooling over the sight. Maybe he could invite the man into their bed tonight; he’d have to get a couple pictures for Seth’s approval, but still.

Dean blinked now, bringing himself back down to earth. When he peered back over, though, he saw that the man was seemingly looking him over. It was then that Ambrose felt his face heating up and his body felt like jelly.

“What’re you lookin’ at?!” The buzzed-cut man suddenly barked.

The greenish-brown eyed man raised a thick, black brow. Then he laughed softly before fixing his own leather jacket (that was on the browner side), pulling the neck of it closer to his face, before making his way inside. To which Dean followed, staying a few meters behind the other. There was definitely a vibe coming from the mystery man. Something inside Dean wanted to steer him away, but at the same time, he wanted to get closer to him. He felt as if he may know this man, may have seen him before. Met him? Dean didn’t know, and he didn’t care either.

Eventually, he stopped himself, Dean did. He stopped following the man around like a lost puppy and instead favored to finally start finding some groceries.

“C’mon Ambrose, stop thinkin’ with your dick.”


End file.
